


The Calm Before the End

by Rassilon_writes



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Circle of Magi, Gen, Harrowing, Mages and Templars, Pre-Dragon Age: Origins, Templar Angst, The Circle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 03:32:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16611086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rassilon_writes/pseuds/Rassilon_writes
Summary: An odd day in the life of a Templar. Before Cullen was beset by demons, he was a young Templar going about his business and trying to make a life in the tower. Inspired by the #Dragon4geDay writing prompt 'Thunderous'.





	1. Chapter 1

The ground rumbled. Wave upon wave of thunder rolled through him, until he was sure his skull was nothing but dust. His head was full of bees desperately scrabbling to get out. Or in. He would worry about that later. Something was coming to end him, and he would damn well see its face before it did. If it had a face. Shouldn’t assume that sort of thing. He opened his eyes. White hot slices of agony lanced through his brain before he managed to screw them shut again. Bad plan. Perhaps meeting oblivion in blissful ignorance wasn’t so bad after all.

The thunder stopped. That was something, at least. “Cullen, what are you doing?” The voice shook the floor, but it seemed familiar. “There’s a fairly obvious explanation for why you appear to have passed out in the apprentices’ dorm, but Maker forbid I should ever judge people.” If he’d been able, Cullen would have laughed. Bran was the most judgemental person he knew, and given that most people he knew were Templars that was really saying something. That being said, Bran was the third best person to have found him in this state. “If you don’t move in five seconds, I’m pouring this over your head. Five.”

He willed himself to move.

“Four.”

Almost there, years of training had surely prepared him to avoid whatever the blazes Bran was threatening him with.

“Three.”

Blast it, he could do this. The bees in his head could help him.

He opened his eyes just as Bran tipped the bowl. All the expletives he’d planned to hurl at him were washed away by an ice-cold torrent, thankfully only water. Cullen would have happily welcomed unconsciousness again at that moment, but at least the bees were gone. 

“Are you with me, Cullen? If I must call for a healer, I’ll make sure it’s the greenest apprentice I can rustle up at this time of the morning. Then you’ll wish for a quick and merciful death.”

He would be fine. He stood up all the time, how hard could it be? If the apprentices could make that accursed moonshine from nothing but turnips and optimism, he could walk. His stomach lurched. Don’t think about the alcohol. 

“Good. Now get some rest.” Cullen relaxed. “NO! Not here, damn it. Get up those stairs and into your own bed, not hers.” 

What? “You don’t think…She…I…We haven’t…” Panic was easy. Words were hard.

“Oh, that’s what gets you to actually talk? Don’t worry, I believe you. You should see the look on your face! You’re green as grass, but too sensible to get tangled up in that kind of thing. It’s more trouble than its worth.”

Cullen resisted the urge to ask Bran if that was why he was so close to that Tranquil. He didn’t even look at him, afraid Bran would see the question in his eyes. 

“Cullen, listen to me. It’s a hard life we’ve chosen. We’re stuck in a tower in the middle of a damn lake, with no one to talk to but those shut in here with us. You want friends, I understand that.” Bran paused, and Cullen had never seen him look so sad. “But they can’t be your friends. It’s not appropriate. They’re your charges. Your duty is to protect them from themselves and the rest of the world from them. When the time comes, it’s easier to strike down a demon than murder a friend.”

He didn’t want to have to do either. The closest he had got was traipsing around Lake Calenhad in the middle of the night looking for children still so new to this life that they didn’t realise there was no escape. He had held their hands as they sobbed, tried to comfort them as they howled, incoherent with grief. He had avoided having to kill an abomination for two whole years, he had hoped to go much longer without having to make that choice. 

Bran sighed. “I need to get to my post. Will you really be alright?” 

Cullen managed a nod. “I just need to…not move for a while.” And he sat, head in his hands, his mind clear of the drink but full of uncomfortable thoughts. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an inauspicious start to the day, Cullen has a lot to think about.

A few hours of numb, dreamless sleep worked wonders. He had mixed the last of the precious hangover remedy into his lyrium draught and was almost feeling like himself again. He’d have to pace himself until Wynne got back from Ostagar, none of the other mages’ concoctions came close to her tonic. He wondered what the day had in store for him. Templar life was all he had hoped, more than his childish dreams could possibly have envisaged, but sometimes it was incredibly dull. He went about his duties. Thankfully it wasn’t a training day, so he would mostly watch, and guard, and wait. From time to time, he would walk to another location, so he could watch and guard and wait in different surroundings. 

He ambled around the second floor, watching for signs of something, anything. It left him plenty of time with his own thoughts. He really should reply to Mia’s letter. His sister wrote to him once a week, telling him about everything going on at home. Normal, everyday things which now seemed so strange. His youngest sister had found a puppy and brought it home. They had learned new songs to sing by the fire in the evening. Mother had made Father a truly ugly hat, which he only wore out of love for her. He struggled to think of things to write back. ‘Dear sister, this week I once again protected the realm from the constant menace of lonely teenagers who might become a maleficar or transform into abominations at any moment. Hope you are well, Cullen’. He’d need to work on that a little. 

He was lucky, really. He’d left home at 13, which was late by Templar standards. Most of the apprentices and mages had been taken from their families before they were 10. Compared to them, he’d had a rich family life. And he could keep in touch with his family. He tried not to think about someone who couldn’t, someone who knew only that her four siblings were scattered across the Free Marches. They’d run out of circles, so the Chantry had shipped her off to Ferelden. She’d probably never see any of her family again. Some evenings, while he taught her how to play chess, she’d told him the little she could remember about Kirkwall. It sounded so familiar, but so foreign. He forced himself to move. He wandered the halls, occasionally popping his head into the mages’ quarters to make sure they weren’t up to something. He had to actually enter the senior mages’ rooms to check properly. You knew you were someone in the Circle of Magi once the Templars couldn’t watch you sleep from the doorway. The day dragged on.

Hushed whispers spilled from the chapel. Keili would be there, as she always was, neglecting her studies and praying day and night for the Maker to rid her of her magic. It hadn’t worked so far. How many more years of frantic, unanswered prayers before she gave up and asked for the brand? Odd for Jowan to be there though. He didn’t strike Cullen as the spiritual type, but there he was, deep in conversation with one of the initiates. Rose? No…Lily, that was it. It troubled him when he couldn’t remember their names. Some of the older Templars didn’t bother to learn the apprentice’s names before they passed the Harrowing. ‘You don’t name the animals you send for slaughter’ was all the explanation he got, but it was a little too jovial, too forced, for his liking. They couldn’t have known that he had done just that. As far back as he could remember, he had named every animal he met, right down to the poxy pigeons that flocked to the statue in the village. He smiled at the memory. He used to throw breadcrumbs for them so the statue could have some company. 

“Ser Cullen, a moment?” The words caught him off guard and rattled inside his head. It was Niall, not the friendliest mage in the world but nice enough. He mustered a pleasantry and a smile. “The Knight-Commander wishes to see you at your earliest convenience.” 

Cullen frowned. It was unlikely that Greagoir had been quite so polite. Niall’s nose crinkled, and he stifled a laugh. “I may have paraphrased the request.” Cullen thanked him, although he didn’t want to see Greagoir. Not ever, but especially not today. He respected the Knight-Commander, but he did not like him. He had been twisted by years of service, hard as a shield and twice as rigid. By all accounts, Greagoir had been a model Templar in his youth, a paragon of duty, vigilance and strength. What had happened? Had anything happened? Were all Templars destined to become like him? Certain. Callous. Cold. 

Living in the Circle did odd things to people. Keili ripping her soul to shreds praying for deliverance. Niall dreaming of living in a cave far away from non-mages. That stubborn mage in solitary confinement who seemed determine to escape or die trying. He couldn’t learn his name, because he’d refused to tell it to anyone. Perhaps the Templars weren’t immune either. He was trapped here too, unless he could find enough lyrium to last a lifetime. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the #Dragon4geDay writing prompt 'thunderous'.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will watching others face their demons force Cullen to face his own?

He dragged himself up the stairs through sheer force of will. Although the tower was a labyrinth of corridors, Greagoir’s office was easy to find. He just followed the shouting to its source. 

“I don’t understand why I have to go, Knight-Commander. Can’t you just send her away? Give me another chance!”

“I gave you a third chance to prove yourself, and you spat on it by satisfying your own pathetic desires. I have enough to do without finding a place for yet another of your brats! Let someone else deal with your nonsense, I have had enough for ten lifetimes.”

The silence crackled.

“Nothing to say for yourself? Good. I cannot believe that I kept you here after the last time. You are not fit to wear that armour. The circles are full to bursting, and yet you continue to disgrace yourself. You know full well that Templars are more likely to produce mage-children, especially when they breed with mages! You brought this on yourself. You leave in the morning. I don't want to see your face again.”

Cullen tucked himself out of sight. No profit in putting himself in the firing line. He didn’t see him leave, but he heard him. The clank of Templar armour at full speed did nothing for his headache. Not the most auspicious moment to knock on that door, but if the Knight-Commander wanted to see him, who was he to argue?

He found Greagoir scrawling angrily in his ledger, no doubt recording a more palatable version of the sordid altercation. He started, suddenly realising Cullen was there. “I was led to believe that you might not be in a fit state for duty. I trust you have recovered?”

It was more a statement than a question. “Completely, Knight-Commander.” There was no point apologising, to Greagoir you were either up to it or you weren’t. No excuses. No apologies.

“There will be a Harrowing tonight. Meet the First Enchanter and me in the library. Make sure you are rested. That will be all.”

He had half an eye on his duties for the rest of the day. He was too agitated to apply himself. Could it be her time? She was generally thought talented, but that wasn’t the same as being considered ready for the Harrowing. He’d heard other apprentices call her lucky, some impressed but others just jealous. He knew it wasn’t luck. She worked hard for every scrap of knowledge, every bit as hard as he had strived to earn his place among the Templars. There were many apprentices in the tower. It could be any of them. He held on to that thought, clutched it like a talisman against fear. 

He tried to sleep. Harrowings happened in the small hours of the morning, to catch the apprentice at their weakest. The reasoning was that if you could resist possession after being dragged from your bed, bleary-eyed and befuddled, you could fend off demons at any time. Cruel, but better cruelty than death. Sometimes he wondered if that was always true. Sleep eluded him. He went to wait in the library. This late at night, there would be no one to question his presence. He paced. It made him feel like he was doing something, so it helped a little. Greagoir arrived with First Enchanter Irving at his heels. 

Greagoir wasted no time. “You know our task. Let’s get to it.” 

They quietly made their way to the apprentices’ dormitory. Greagoir would reveal who they were here for once they reached the door. They couldn’t risk the apprentice finding out beforehand, even if it was only a few minutes. The very thought of the Harrowing drove some to request Tranquility rather than face it, so who knew what someone might do upon finding out their time had come. 

Cullen could hardly breathe. They were nearly at the door. Greagoir would say some other name, and it would be alright. He would keep vigil at some other apprentice’s Harrowing, and he would do his duty, and he would do it well. 

Greagoir stopped. “Cullen, I have selected you to strike the killing blow, should the need arise.” He leaned a little closer, muttering “I know you like her, but your duty comes first.” 

Cullen tried to chase the words from his mind, but the realisation grew and grew until his head was full of thunder, an awful truth which he couldn’t escape. This was her moment, but it was also his. 

He opened the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the #Dragon4geDay writing prompt 'Thunderous'.


End file.
